


Empty My Gun, Dull My Knife

by OurLadyofPerpetualWallflowers



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M, Season Three AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 05:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19311673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OurLadyofPerpetualWallflowers/pseuds/OurLadyofPerpetualWallflowers
Summary: Later, after Billy has taken him back to his car and tells Steve to keep the jeans but give him the shirt, after Steve has driven home with the windows open and his hair dripping down his bare back, he’ll walk through the house with his bat and double-check every door, investigate every room for signs of monsters before he goes upstairs and lays on his bed, mind turning the events of the night over and over.He places his hand on his chest, over the spot where Billy’s had rested in the pool, keeping them both safe in the shadows. Steve’s eyes are wide in the dark as he whispers aloud.“You sweet on me, Hargrove?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Can you write a season three AU when season three isn’t out yet? Because I did. 
> 
> This is so soft. So so soft. You could swaddle babies with it. I ignore every spoiler from s3 except Steve works at Scoops and Billy’s a lifeguard. I unintentionally advertise for Coke. Title and vague inspiration from the song Weapons by Emily Kinney. Give it a listen, it’s cute.

Hawkins always seems so much smaller than it really is. Steve knows this. Intimately actually-he once wandered away while on a middle school field trip to the newspaper office and was lost for the rest of the day until Hopper found him, ten miles away, bawling behind a daycare and trying not to show it. There had been no big search party for him because his mother hadn’t been Joyce, hadn’t raised a fuss, had kept everything nice and clean and presentable for the public. If the janitor at the daycare hadn’t called the cops on a crying, too-tall ten year old then who knows how long he would have sat there. 

Steve barely remembers it, doesn’t remember Hopper at all specifically, just a big warm hand belonging to a man in a uniform who had given him a donut and didn’t scold him for wiping his snotty nose with his shirt. He does remember his dad shaking him awake in the driveway, remembers his dad saying he was _old enough to walk, really Steven_ and then the memory ends. He likes to think his mother made a fuss when he went inside, that she hugged him and kissed him and they all sat just a little closer together that night but he can’t be sure. 

So for all the close-knit, everybody knows everybody reality, Hawkins is bigger than it should be, sprawling out around little lakes and family farms, neighborhoods and businesses popping up along the road right when you think it’s definitely all forest. Maybe that’s why Steve makes a point of keeping track of how many times he sees Hargrove’s blue Camaro around town.

Not at the movies or the arcade-those are spots that are acceptable, places where teens and kids naturally flock on the long summer nights when there’s nothing to do. And everyone in the tri-state area seems to be spending every free second at the new mall so that doesn’t count either, even if Steve doesn’t get the big deal. It’s a building full of smaller buildings full of people who want your money. He knows-he is one. 

So Steve doesn’t count those times but he counts every time he sees midnight blue paint slide past on the next street, every time he watches red tail lights fade too fast into the setting sun, every time the humid air is cut wide open by the snarl of a souped up engine, and every time he hears Tommy or Vickie or whoever the fuck else yell in scared delight as they scurry across the street to avoid getting hit, like they thought Hargrove was gonna stop just for them.

Billy Hargrove doesn’t seem to stop for anything, is more than happy to go straight through whatever is in his path, even people. Steve’s been one of them too and he’s got a scar to prove it, a tiny white dash at his hairline where Hargrove’s ring had split his skin. 

Steve doesn’t really know why he’s counting but he is. Everytime he reaches ten, he makes a mark on the scrap of paper tucked into his glove box because it’s weird how often he sees Hargrove. Not otherworld monsters, moving things with your mind _weird_ but weird.

The other scrap of paper, the one for sightings of _weird_ stuff is blank and somehow that bothers Steve more than the one covered in marks.

The Hargrove sightings might be regular weird but they’re still weird because Hawkins is plenty big enough for Steve to never see Billy Hargrove outside of the movies, the mall, the arcade. Hargrove seems like the type to go across the railroad tracks and break shit, or to find empty houses on the outskirts and burn shit, or to hang out at the quarry and smoke shit. 

Maybe he does and Steve doesn’t know because Steve doesn’t go to any of those places anymore but there’s no way Hargrove could be everywhere Steve turns if he was doing any of those things so he probably isn’t and it definitely doesn’t matter to Steve who has no interest in Billy Hargrove beyond not winding up at the mercy of his fists again.

They never talk, even when waiting for the kids has them parked side by side, both out of their cars and leaning against a shaded brick wall because it’s already the kind of sticky summer hot that Steve never remembers he hates until it hits him. And it’s a free country, right? Hargrove can drive wherever he wants, to the edge of the world, it’s just-

Why is he always on the edge of Steve’s world instead?

Like now. Steve is in his work shorts and a white undershirt because it’s too hot outside to wear his scratchy polyester uniform shirt but too cold behind the counter at Scoops to wear _just_ his uniform shirt and he’s walking up his driveway because he likes to park on the street under the massive oak tree in the summer so the car isn’t an oven when he gets in it for his afternoon shifts. 

He’s not thinking about Hargrove right now, not thinking about anything really except the vague idea of a cool shower to wash melted ice cream and sweat off, but he has to stop and turn and watch as Hargrove’s car goes squealing around the corner and blasts past his house, music blaring and engine growling and sending an empty beer can clattering across the street. It’s just like any other time he sees Hargrove driving too fast around town so Steve isn’t sure what makes him raise his hands to his mouth and yell after him.

“Asshole!”

He definitely doesn’t know what makes him smile as he turns and trudges inside.


	2. Chapter 2

Another too hot day, another mind-numbing shift, and Steve’s scratching at his neck as he climbs out of the car and sighs in the shade outside the arcade, idly wishing he had a soda or a beer or even some fucking water. Hargrove comes flying around the corner and nearly hits his Beemer as he fishtails into the parking spot directly in front of Steve, sending a wave of hot air over his knees. The engine cuts off and the door opens but Hargrove doesn’t step out, just sits there, head falling back to rest against the seat. 

Hargrove is wearing his shades, mirrored lenses reflecting distorted visions of the street. Steve can see himself as a blue and white blur right in the center and maybe that makes him think Hargrove’s looking at him when really he could be looking anywhere at all. Maybe that’s what has Steve pushing off the wall and walking over without really deciding to. He skirts around the open door and stops just out of reach, swiftly taking in Hargrove’s lax form.

Hargrove’s barely sitting upright, the car seat pushed all the way back so he can sit crooked in the space, right leg stretched all the way out into the passenger side footwell, left foot on the clutch pedal. He’s wearing his Hawkins Pool tank top but instead of the standard red shorts, he’s got on jeans and god, isn’t he burning up?

“Aren’t you hot?” Steve blurts out. Hargrove rolls his head to the side and bares his teeth. 

“Always, pretty boy, but thanks for noticing.”

Steve rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, feeling the sun beating down on his back. 

“I meant, it’s freaking blazing outside and you’re wearing jeans and sitting in a parked car. Do they not have heat stroke in California?” Steve can hear himself getting what Dustin calls his ‘mom voice’ and he winces. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, doesn’t know why he cares, but there’s sweat beading on Hargrove’s face and it’s hot and Hargrove’s an asshole but he doesn’t deserve to die from his own stupidity. 

“Yeah but we also have good taste, hot girls, and the fucking ocean so it evens out.” Hargrove shoots right back but it falls flat, his voice doing something odd when he says ‘ocean’, something between breaking and a growl. 

“Are you-” Steve bends down a little trying to catch a better glimpse of Hargrove’s face even through the aviators. “Are you like, homesick or something?”

Hargrove snorts and a hand comes up to wipe sweat off his forehead but he stays silent. Normally Steve would assume he was being ignored but somehow it doesn’t feel that way. Somehow Steve hears what Hargrove isn’t saying.

“Holy shit, you are, aren’t you? Homesick.” He huffs out a laugh and Hargrove snakes a hand out and slams the door shut, catching Steve’s hip with the edge and nearly sending him to the pavement. “Hey, watch it, nutjob!” Hargrove starts the car and the music drowns out anything else that might have been said even as the kids burst out of the doors and Steve gets caught up unlocking the car and firmly denying the idea of ice cream.

When he gets back to his house, he makes another mark on the slip of paper and then he pulls the big encyclopedia off of his father’s bookcase, flips through until he finds the entry for California and spends a few minutes tracing the tiny picture of the coastline, trying to remember ever being homesick before. 

He can’t.


	3. Chapter 3

The movie theater is even more packed than Steve thought it would be; everybody trying to beat the heat without staying home. He buys one less ticket then he meant to when the girl says there’s not enough seats left for all of them. Over half-hearted protests, he tells the kids to behave and not drop the popcorn and to meet him out front in an hour and a half before he walks back into the lingering sunshine and down the street.

He’s not headed anywhere special, walking more for the little bit of relief the air brings as he moves than to get someplace. He sees a flash of blond hair as he passes the alley between Melvald’s and the grocery and he shouldn’t turn back but he does, slips into the narrow space and makes a beeline for the figure leaning against the wall. 

Hargrove is in his lifeguard gear again, shorts and all, smoking a cigarette and taking sips from a bottle of Coke. He watches Steve approach lazily, like it’s nothing, and Steve practically throws himself against the wall next to him like he meant to all along, like they planned it when they did anything but. When Steve has no idea what he’s doing here.

Hargrove slowly exhales a stream of smoke and offers him the cigarette. Steve shakes his head. Hargrove takes a sip of Coke and offers him the bottle, wiggling it a little to entice him. Steve snags it and presses his lips to the rim, takes a long swallow of still cold too sweet soda and hands it back as the cool feeling trickles down his chest from the inside. 

“What’s the heat like in California?” Steve isn’t sure why he’s asking but suddenly he’s burning with curiosity. Hargrove slowly exhales again even though he hasn’t taken another drag.

“Hot. But not like this.” He waves the hand holding the Coke at the street. “This is like wearing wet clothes. The ocean always has a breeze coming off it, making it, I dunno, better? And it smells like salt and there’s always these little stands along the beach that sell ices and pops and drinks and shit so you can always cool off even if you don’t wanna get wet.” He takes another swallow and holds the bottle out to Steve again absently, waits for him to drink and give it back before he continues.

“And at night it cools right down, almost cold sometimes, but the sand is still warm for a while so you can sit there longer and watch the waves, or storms. Can see ‘em moving across the water.” 

They stand there for a bit, passing the diminishing Coke back and forth, Steve taking smaller and smaller sips to make it last. There’s something there, just at the corner of his mind-an idea beginning to take shape, but he can’t see it yet.

“You must miss it.” 

Billy hums in reply and flicks the cigarette butt away into the shadows. 

“You going back?” Steve can see it now, Billy Hargrove blowing out of town with the music blaring and a middle finger out the window. They’d talk about it for years.

“Maybe. Want to.” Billy sounds tired now, like he missed a night’s sleep. “Can’t find a decent fucking job in this shithole though and gas costs money.” It’s Steve turn to snort and he reaches up to tug on the red kerchief that he all too often forgets he’s wearing these days. 

“At least your uniform doesn’t come with a hat.”

Billy cracks up at that, nearly spitting out the last of the Coke. Whatever he might reply is lost as his watch beeps in alarm and Billy straightens up, chucks the empty bottle in the dumpster across the way.

“Movie’s over. Brat time.” Steve rolls his eyes but follows him back out into the muggy air. 

That evening, as his microwave dinner is cooking, Steve pulls an old cigar box down from the top of his closet shelf and takes it into the dining room. He grabs the plastic tray from the kitchen and puts it on a plate, pours a can of soda into one of his mother’s crystal glasses. He lets the food cool while he counts up all the crumpled bills in the box. Six years worth of spare change, birthday gifts, unspent allowances, pizza money left behind from his parents’ trips, and now, his Scoops wages. By the time he’s finished his salisbury steak and peas, there’s $1587.46 cents stacked neatly in front of him.

Steve sits back and takes a drink of Coke, rolling the flavor around in his mouth. It tastes better from a bottle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, to save that much money over six years, Steve would have needed to save only about $22 a month so its reasonable for him to have so much. Also, that’s a little under $4000 in 2019 money so no, you won’t be able to save for a road trip to California the same way unless you have a time machine. Inflation is a bitch.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s a week before he sees the Camaro again, parked by the side of Jacobs’ field as he comes back from dropping Dustin, Lucas, and Mike off at Hopper’s cabin for dinner. He stops just behind it, gets out and heads for the middle of the wide open space. 

Jacobs’ field is just that-a field. It used to be a farm with cows and horses and whatnot but the old man died and his kids didn’t want it so the cows and horses got sold and the house was rented to a guy with a motorcycle and a habit of leaving town for weeks at a time. And the field became the field. There’s a weird set of posts in the middle of the thing, marking the spot where the barn used to be before it got struck by lightning and burned. Steve heads straight for it.

Sure enough, Billy is on his back in the middle, on a ratty old blanket as Steve walks up to stand over him. He’s barefoot and shirtless and with the cigarette in his mouth, Steve suddenly remembers the cover of a book he forgot to read in English. The red shorts don’t match but everything else lines up. _Huckleberry Finn_.

“How much money do you have?”

Billy leans up on his elbows and stares at him. Steve shifts from foot to foot. 

“Harrington.”

“Yeah?”

“Please tell me you’re trying to rob me dressed like Popeye the Sailor Man because that would literally be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Steve rolls his eyes and yanks off his work shirt, balls it up in his fist and chucks it at the spot where Billy’s sneakers lay on the ground. The moment it settles, Steve wonders why he did that because Billy’s eyebrows are raised and his gaze is hot and it was already hot but this is like touching the tip of a match and Steve doesn’t know what to do with that.

“How much money do you have? Like, cash?”

Billy sits up properly and he has to tilt his head all the way back to maintain eye contact. Steve is momentarily distracted by how bright blue his eyes are, like bright bright blue, the blue of those Christmas lights Joyce had strung all over the house last year, electric blue. He’s so distracted he misses whatever Billy says and has to ask him to repeat it.

“I said,” The eyes roll in exasperation. “Why do you care?”

“Hawkins sucks.” Steve abruptly sits down, nearly collapsing onto the blanket like someone cut his strings and he hadn’t planned on saying that but god, it’s true. “Hawkins sucks and you suck and I think we can help each other out.”

Billy’s eyebrows drop down to furrow into a frown and he draws his legs up under him to give Steve more room, gaze sharpening into something bordering on anger. 

“Connect the dots for me, pretty boy, cause I’m beginning to think _you_ have heat stroke.”

Steve scratches at his neck again-his damn uniform is giving him a rash or something-as he tries to find a way to explain what made perfect sense before he said it out loud. Billy leans over into Steve’s space, eyes searching over his face as he looks for something. His voice, when he speaks, is calm and quiet and bordering on soft in a way that makes every hair on Steve’s body stand up straight.

“You sweet on me, Harrington?”

“What the-” Steve chokes on his answer, feels the blood drain from his face and then double back to flush it red. He shoves Hargrove away like he did when they fought, two fingers to his chest but a lot more pressure behind it. “Fuck you, man, why would you even-”

“You say shit like that a lot, for one.” Hargrove sways back with the shove and then forward again, staying right up close, voice flat and still too quiet, too deliberately calm. “‘Cream your pants, nutjob, fuck you’...and now you come all the way out here, strip off and ask about money. You got some dirty fantasties going on, little gay for pay?”

Steve gapes at him, words lost and he’s suddenly hot and cold all over, as Billy’s words seem to echo in his mind. The moment stretches out for a second too long and then suddenly Billy is cracking up, falling onto his back again and kicking at him with one bare foot.

“I’m just fucking with you, man. Got a light?” He snaps his fingers and holds out a hand and Steve drops his zippo into it as he tries to recover from whatever the hell that just was. “So. What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“I don’t know, I just.” He shrugs, looks away from that bright blue stare, tries to ignore the voice in his head that sounds like Dustin and is helpfully pointing out that Billy could kill him and bury him in the field and no one would hear a thing. “Look. I wanna get out of here. You wanna get out of here. I have the money, you need the money. It seems to me like we could make an arrangement.”

“Try again, Harrington. Details this time, twenty words or less.” Billy sighs and blows a stream of smoke upwards, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose like something pains him.

“Uh.” Steve shakes his head and pulls himself back on track. “I’ll pay you to drive me to California.” 

“How much money we talking about, hot shot? Because I’m not a fucking charity worker and the real world costs more than you think with no mommy and daddy ‘s credit card to pay for everything, Jesus. Have you ever even-”

“I have $1500 dollars.” Steve blurts out and Billy cuts himself off, eyes wide as he stares at him.

“I have $1500 dollars,” Steve forges on. “Cash. And I get paid at the end of the week so that’s another $80 ‘cause I’ve been working extra shifts. Add that to whatever you have and it’s enough right? To get to California?”

“More than.” Billy murmurs and he still looks dazed.

“Yeah so you drive me there and whatever we don’t spend on the way is yours.” Steve doesn’t know what to make of Billy’s stock still silence, finds himself rambling on as he gets more and more nervous. He didn’t know how much he wanted this until he asked for it, until he thought there was a chance he might not get it. “We can sleep in the car and take turns driving so that’ll save money and time. It should take three days, right? The map might have been wrong, I dunno why Dad even keeps those road atlases he gets from the company, but if we drive in four hour shifts and we do three shifts a day that’s three days-”

“Breathe, Steve.” Billy’s hand drops onto his shoulder, wide palm and long fingers wrapping around the joint that always aches just a bit from digging rock hard ice cream out of the freezer case all day. It feels good in contrast to the humid air around them and Steve wonders how he’s so cool to the touch when he’s been laying out in the fading sunlight. “Why are you looking to take off all of a sudden?”

Steve stares at him. Tries to think of something, anything, but his voice is locked in his throat because with no warning, it all wants to come pouring out; how he parks on the street so that there’s no shadows around the house when he wakes up in the middle of the night. How he’s taken every shift he can get at Scoops because if he’s not doing something, not moving, his hands start to shake like he’s an addict or something. How the only people he can really talk to are either kids, his ex, or a bunch of adults who have bigger problems. He wants to explain how badly he wants to be normal and boring again but that doing that here feels wrong because Hawkins is anything but normal and boring.

He wants to tell Billy about monsters that eat cats and girls named Barb, about scientists that make you sign pages and pages of agreements but don’t show up when the shit hits the fan. And he wants to sit here in the too hot sun and describe the way it felt to have a pack of demodogs barreling towards him, to know that he wasn’t enough to stop them. He wants to quit pretending everything is fine when everywhere he turns he sees reminders of just how not fine things can be, how bullshit this whole town is, and he wants to sleep without waking up screaming from a nightmare where he’s eaten by a reject from _The Thing_.

None of this comes out as he looks at Billy but something must translate because he slaps Steve on the arm and lays back down, idly scratching the tip of his nose where, Steve realizes, a scattering of freckles has started to appear.

“You working tomorrow?”

Steve shakes his head, realizes Billy might not be able to see him, and clears his throat.

“Uh, no. I maxed out my hours this week.” He’s dreading it actually, sitting at home with nothing to do but hope the kids need a ride somewhere.

“Wanna see a movie?” Billy is biting at his fingers and looking out over the field. “ _Repo Man_ is still playing. Can talk more details then, about your arrangement.” Steve blinks and nearly pinches himself. Billy changes his mood faster than those dinky rings they sell at Claire’s but it sounds like he’s on board.

“Okay?” It comes out like a question but Billy just nods as his watch alarm starts going off again.

“Okay. 11 o’clock. Don’t wait outside, I’ll find you in there.” He gathers his shoes and shirt, flicks the cigarette off into the grass somewhere and heads off to his car, leaving Steve staring after him.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve is nearly late to the movie because he swears he saw a Demodog in the woods behind his house, has to spend an hour on the patio with his bat and a handful of sandwich meat before he gives up on it. He buys his ticket, and a soda, and then doubles back for nachos because he forgot to eat anything for breakfast. He sits in the back because it feels right, for this kind of clandestine meeting. 

Maybe he should have worn a hat.

“Move over.” Billy appears and kicks at his leg, impatiently waiting as Steve switches to the next seat even as he asks why. Billy throws himself down and props his feet up on the seat back in front of him before answering. “No reason, just wanted to see if you’d do it.”

“Fucking asshole.” Steve scoffs and flips him off.

“There you go again with the dirty fantasies, Harrington.” Billy’s grin is too white in the darkened room, light from the projector staining it blue. “Gotta say, I’m still thinking you’re sweet on me.”

Steve ignores him, focuses on the trailers that have started. The new _Indiana Jones_ looks amazing even if they changed the girl. 

They sit through the movie in relative silence, save for Billy quietly singing along with some of the songs, body moving in time to the beat. The music was rough and loud and not something Steve would ever have listened to by himself but Billy was treating it like a private concert and Steve found it easier to watch him than the screen, especially once the aliens showed up. They sat through the credits until the lights come up, and then they wandered out into the lobby.

“So.” Steve starts, not really sure how to ask if Billy was really gonna drive him to California.

“I need a smoke.” Billy heads out the door and around the corner without looking back, leaving him to follow. They wind up in the little alley next to Melvald’s again, only this time Billy is pacing around in circles as he smokes and Steve is sitting on an overturned milk crate to watch. Minutes tick by as Billy periodically asks a question and processes the answer.

“Why not drive yourself?”

“I dunno where I’m going.”

Another circle, inhale, exhale.

“Why California?”

“Never been there.”

Circle, inhale, exhale.

“How’d you get so much cash?”

“I saved it.”

Circle, realize the cigarette was gone. Light another one. Inhale, exhale.

“Why me?”

Steve hesitates and Billy stops pacing to stand in front of him, eyes intent and hands loose at his sides. Steve wracks his brain for a good answer but even he wasn’t sure why he was doing this, how the hell could he convince Hargrove of it?

“Why not?” He finally says and was surprised when Billy relaxed, like he needed to know that this was nothing more than a meeting of needs as opposed to Steve actually wanting to spend time with him.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll do it but we don’t tell anybody.” He spoke quickly, like he was afraid Steve would back out. “I mean it, not the brats, not your folks, no one can know that we’re doing this.” Steve stands up and takes a few steps back.

“You know that sounds like you’re gonna kill me and take my money, right? Like, you sound like a serial killer.” Billy’s face twists in acknowledgement. 

“I mean, don’t tell ‘em I’m going with you, or that you’re going to Cali. Say you’re going west or whatever and that you’ll call when you pick a place. Like Kerouac and shit, right?” 

“Yeah.” Steve agrees, if only because the idea of explaining to everyone that he was willingly locking himself in a car with Billy Hargrove for days on end was unimaginable. “Yeah, got it. When do we leave?”

Billy rubbed at his chest like it hurt, a dark look passing over his face for a second.

“Soon.”

Steve goes home after the alleyway and finds another twenty dollars on the counter from his mom but he tucks it into the box with the rest of his cash and eats peanut butter out of the jar instead. Every bit counts. He wanders around the house, trying to hold off but eventually he goes out to the patio, intent on looking one last time at the woods before going to bed early. 

There’s blood on the concrete.

Steve feels his heart pounding as he scrambles back inside to get the bat, can feel the urgent drive to fight, run, hide. He nearly grabs the phone and calls Hopper but he doesn’t want it to get away.

Back outside he cautiously approaches the small stain. It’s tiny, really, only a few inches across but bright red and fresh. There’s a mark in the fence where it looks like something tried to get through and Steve has the bat at the ready as he peers into the trees beyond it. He breathes, ears straining for the sound of something moving, eyes wide to catch a glimpse of anything in the shadows.

There’s nothing. Just dappled shade and soft sunlight, a few birds and squirrels moving through the space. No gaping jaws, no nightmare creatures, no threat. It could have been anything; a deer, a dog or cat, a raccoon. 

Steve slowly backs into the house and slides the door closed, locks it and wedges it shut with a dining room chair for good measure. He methodically goes through the house, locks every door and window, winds up back in the den staring at the patio, hands compulsively tightening and releasing around the bat’s handle. Inexplicably, he wishes Billy was here.

The idea of Billy and demodogs occupying the same space is so odd that Steve could almost believe that one would somehow ward off the other. And maybe that’s the great and terrible truth of why he’d been counting Camaro sightings in place of demodogs. Because if the growling sounds were a car engine, they weren’t a nightmare creature. If the eyes he could feel on his back were bright bright blue, then they weren’t demonic red. If the thing he saw out of the corner of his eye was blond curls and a sneering mouth, it wasn’t a dripping maw full of teeth and death. 

He wants Billy here because it feels like a rule of the universe that if Steve had to deal with his back and forth moods, his asshole attitude, his too-hot temper, then...then he didn’t have to deal with supernatural beings intent on destroying the world. At least not at the same time. 

And maybe, if Steve spends three days in a car with Billy Hargrove and makes it out alive, he’ll never have to stand in a tunnel and feel his own incredible inadequacy again. 

Just as he puts these pieces together, the phone rings, making him jump. He doesn’t answer, stays where he is on the floor as the machine picks up and his father’s voice echoes through the empty house. 

_“Your mother and I will be out of town this week, David’s offered us the cabin in Newport. I’ll have Candice leave some grocery money in the mailbox so you can-hmm? Oh no, just tying up a few things. Anyway, see you on our return.”_

The machine beeps off. Steve doesn’t move as the sun sets and the house fills with darkness, just stares out into the black and clutches the bat. 

“Soon.” He whispers to himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Scoops is a special kind of hell the next day, beginning with the regional manager Bobby trying unsuccessfully to get Steve to agree to sign up for a two-day assistant manager’s training and ending with a broken hot fudge dispenser that covers Steve’s shirt in chocolate when it practically explodes as he’s trying to unclog it.

He walks out the employee entrance and feels like he’s getting hit with a wall of heat as he steps into a sun that’s blazing hot even as it sets. He trudges to his car, avoiding the shadows and already developing a headache from the too rich smell of fudge surrounding him. He’s barely unlocked it when he hears a voice from behind him.

“You lose a fight with a sundae or what, pretty boy?”

“Yeah, well you should see the other guy.” Steve turns and just manages to stop from leaning against the burning hot metal behind him. Billy is sitting in the Camaro with the door open again, eating fries out of a bag and drinking out of another bottle of Coke. “Left him leaking all over the floor.” He meant to imply that he tried to fix the machine and failed which he did but the slow grin spreading over Billy’s face has Steve hearing what he said out of context and he groans dramatically and buries his face in his hands. 

“Not like that.”

“You said it, amigo, not me.”

He glances back up and Billy’s still grinning at him, a softer little thing that looks nearly out of place on his face. He stands there grinning back until a faint sound of someone slamming a car door has him jumping and looking away.

“You busy tonight?” Billy’s voice is casual as he scans the parking lot like he’s looking for someone. Too casual really and that should be suspicious but Steve had stayed awake for most of the night and he’s never seen a monster when he’s looking at Billy so he locks his car back and walks up to the Camaro. 

“Nope. Got big plans?” Billy keeps looking away but his mouth quirks back up on one side.

“Got keys to the pool. Wanna cool off a bit?” Steve nearly says he has a pool at home but he can’t, can’t swim in it now, can’t go out there without his bat, can’t explain the blood on the concrete.

“Hell yeah.” Billy jerks his head at the seat next to him and Steve circles around, opens the door to get in when Billy stops him.

“Whoa, whoa, no sauce on the seats! Here,” He turns and leans into the back of the car, rummaging in the back seat for something before coming back up with a handful of clothes. “Change into these.”

“What, here?” 

“Aw, she’s bashful.” Billy smirks at him and shoves the clothes in his direction. “C’mon, nobody’s looking, just be quick.”

Steve glances around and it’s true. They’re in the back of the lot and Billy had parked next to the fence. As long as Steve stays behind the car, he should be fine...and he would like to get rid of the smell.

“If you drive away, I will literally kill you.” 

Billy rolls his eyes and holds up the keys, shaking them to prove they aren’t near the ignition. Steve carefully pulls his shirt off to avoid smearing chocolate all over his face, balling it up inside out and tossing it into the footwell. Billy impatiently holds out a pair of jeans with the knees ripped out and he takes a deep breath, shoves his sneakers off and his shorts down as fast as possible, hopping back and forth as he pulls the jeans on. He jumps into the seat as soon as they’re over his hips, desperate to get his socked feet off the scorching pavement.

“Fuck that’s hot!” 

Billy makes a noise that sounds like agreement and Steve glances over. There’s a flush of red on his face and he wonders how long Billy was sitting in his car. Billy clears his throat and tosses a red button down at his face.

“Nice boxers. Very plaid. Wanna zip up there, partner or am I getting the floor show for free?”

Steve flips him off and does up the jeans before tugging on the shirt but leaving it open for now. There’s no way it should be this hot outside when it’s barely summer. He fingers the soft cotton and wonders why it looks familiar as Billy starts the car and slips down the service road towards the community center.

The parking lot is deserted but Billy parks behind the building anyway, squeezing the Camaro into a hidden space by the emergency exit. They climb out and he pulls out a key, unlocks the door and makes a sweeping gesture inside.

“After you, King Steve.” Steve rolls his eyes and walks in, trying to pretend that the empty building doesn’t set him on edge. He waits and lets Billy take the lead, unerringly guiding them through the dark and into the fenced in pool area. He fiddles with something on the wall for a second and suddenly soft lights come on around the edge, illuminating the gently lapping water.

It does more than Steve thought it would to dispel his nerves, now that he can see the bottom and the depth markers, or maybe that’s Billy, who walks back over and nudges his shoulder.

“C’mon.” He strips his shirt off easily and kicks off his boots, hands falling to fiddle with the button fly of his Levi’s before he realizes Steve hasn’t moved. “What?”

“Nothing, just thinking.” Steve shakes himself and shrugs off the borrowed shirt, slips off the jeans and his socks until he’s back in his boxers. “Sure we won’t get caught?”

“Nah,” Billy’s gaze runs over his from head to toe and it makes Steve shiver. “Nobody’s around tonight. There’s a fair or something, I dunno.” He takes a breath and finishes undressing. He bundles up their clothes and puts them inside the door, out of reach of the water. “Wouldn’t advise skinny-dipping though, just in case we have to run for it.”

Steve laughs and just like that, the last traces of nerves fade away. Billy means run from a person; a cop or a boss or a well-meaning citizen. He means the kind of ‘run for it’ where you pelt full out for two blocks and then stop because you’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe and whoever was chasing you gave up after a few feet. He doesn’t mean run for your life, doesn’t mean run from monsters who don’t get tired. He means normal, dumb, stupid teenager shit that Steve hasn’t realized he missed so goddamned much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little Letterkenny shoutout.


	7. Chapter 7

They swim for a few hours, taking turns diving off the ledge and cannonballing into the deep end, seeing who can do the most laps (Steve) and who can hold their breath the longest (Billy). They wind up floating on their backs, drifting in circles and gently pushing off the edges when they get too close.

“So.” Billy breaks the silence. “California, huh.”

“Yeah.” Steve answers back quietly. “That still cool?” Before Billy can answer, they hear the sound of someone pulling into the lot and they look at each other in alarm.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Billy hisses and then he’s pushing and shoving Steve up against the side, tugging him against the tile so they’re facing each other, water lapping at their chins as they hide from view, hands pressing under the rough ledge to keep themselves under the water’s surface. Billy presses his finger to his lips like Steve needs the reminder.

Someone walks up, crunching on the gravel lining the chain link, and a flashlight beam cuts through the dim moonlight to sweep over the chairs and tables all stacked up on the far side.

“Billy.” The voice is loud and hard, tone full of warning and malice and Billy’s eyes grow wide as he pales. Steve shoots him a curious look but Billy shakes his head the tiniest bit, expression pleading. The footsteps and flashlight follow the fence in one direction and then back, methodically scanning the pool for any trace of life. Billy’s eyes are almost closed and he’s breathing in such an even, measured way that it has to be forced as he listens. Steve can feel his heart racing but he doesn’t feel any of the dread he felt when staring at his own pool last night.

He has no idea who this guy is, why Billy looks like he’s being held at gunpoint, why it’s painfully clear that they can’t be seen but Steve is almost calm. This is a person, not a monster and _people are fragile_ , a dark voice that sounds like Nancy’s reminds him. 

He glances up at the space around him and spies a table umbrella laying on its side near the shallow end. If there’s trouble, it’ll do. It’s not his bat but it’ll do. Billy can hold whoever they are off while Steve gets it and then he’ll beat the crap out of them. 

The footsteps recede and he can hear someone get in a vehicle, hears it pull back out of the lot. Steve exhales slowly, muscles untensing just as a warm hand presses against his chest under the water, holds him in place. He glances at Billy who shakes his head. He slips closer under the edge and ducks in to rest his forehead on Steve’s temple, presses his mouth to Steve’s ear. 

“Not yet.” He breathes and the warm air curls around Steve’s neck and makes him shiver. Billy stays close as they hide there, pressed together as the water gently laps at them.

One heartbeat, two heartbeats, three and the space floods with headlights. They wait a few more minutes and the lights cut back off, the truck pulls away, engine noise slowly fading out this time. Billy gently pulls back and peers over the ledge at the lot before pulling himself up to rest on the tile, breathing out hard and rubbing his face. Steve pulls himself up as well, crossing arms and doing his own check of the area, very deliberately not asking.

“My dad.” Billy finally says. Steve nods like that explains it all and in a weird way maybe it explains more than he realizes. He tucks that thought away to look at later and lets the water hold him up for a minute, lets it bump him into Billy as they rest side by side.

“Soon.” He says, like the answer to a question no one’s asked.

“Soon.” Billy agrees and it sounds like a threat but Steve thinks its a promise.

Later, after Billy has taken him back to his car and tells Steve to keep the jeans but give him the shirt, after Steve has driven home with the windows open and his hair dripping down his bare back, he’ll walk through the house with his bat and double-check every door, investigate every room for signs of monsters before he goes upstairs and lays on his bed, mind turning the events of the night over and over.

Billy’s fear, Billy’s father, the unspoken knowledge that being caught in a pool in his underwear with Steve would be horrific...Steve brings his fingers up to his face and traces the path Billy’s breathe took when he pressed up against him and whispered. He remembers the way Billy looked when he took off his shirt in the field, the way he flushed when Steve changed into his clothes, the heavy sound of his voice as he recited Steve’s unintentional entendres.

_Cream your pants, nutjob, fuck you._

He places his hand on his chest, over the spot where Billy’s had rested in the pool, keeping them both safe in the shadows. Steve’s eyes are wide in the dark as he whispers aloud.

“You sweet on me, Hargrove?”


	8. Chapter 8

Steve doesn’t see Billy for a few days, busy with work and ferrying Dustin and Lucas back and forth and all over town. He finally catches a glimpse as he pulls away from the Wheelers after a drop off, brakes to let Max run across the street in front of him with a wave. Billy’s car glides slowly past his as they head in opposite directions, meeting eyes through the windows as they pull abreast of each other.

Billy’s got a black eye and a troubling look. Steve clenches his fists around the steering wheel. _Soon_ , he mouths and Billy nods sharply and peels out. Steve gets a pizza and a two-liter and heads home the long way. He leaves the garage door open when he gets there, walks through the empty spot where his parents’ car usually sits. He leaves the hard door to the kitchen open too, only the screen to keep the bugs out.

He’s standing in front of the patio door when Billy walks up behind him, staring out at the woods, staring at the bloodstain he hasn’t cleaned up yet.

“Nice pool.” Billy is quiet next to him.

“Not really.” Steve taps on the glass. “Something tried to get through the fence a few days ago. Cut itself, bled all over.”

“Huh.” Billy leans in a little to see better. “Probably a dog.”

“Probably.” Steve agrees blandly but he keeps staring.

“Or a deer. Indiana has deer, right? Maybe a raccoon or something.” Billy’s looking at him now, just as hard as Steve’s looking at the spot where the fence is twisted and bent.

“Yeah.” He swallows and finally turns his back, heads towards the kitchen where he left the food. “Or something.”

They eat in the kitchen, standing at the sink where it looks out on the road.

He offers Billy the couch, feels weird mentioning the guest room right across from his, like it’d be too close to offering Billy his own bed to sleep in. But then again, they’re the only two in the house, the only two who would know. Do either of them care?

Steve brushes his teeth and changes into threadbare flannel pants, a stretched out old tee, putters around the room for a minute before deciding, fuck it, and heading back downstairs to where Billy is stretched out on the sofa in front of the patio door. 

“Hey, uh.” Steve clears his throat as Billy looks up at him. He’d taken off his jacket and boots and belt but kept everything else on. He shouldn’t look as naked as he did. “There’s a room across from mine. If you wanted a bed or something.”

Billy stares at him for a second and then nods, gets up silently and follows Steve back upstairs to the hall between their doors. Steve hesitates and gestures at the forever made up guest bed.

“There. Sorry, I uh, I guess I forgot earlier.” It wasn’t what he meant to say but it sounded right somehow. 

“Thanks, pretty boy.”Billy brushes past, the tips of his fingers just barely touching Steve’s wrist as he moves, as barely there as his voice.

Steve watches him go in and sit on the bed, knows that Billy knows he’s there as he slowly pulls his shirt over his head, undoes his button fly. Blue eyes finally meet his as Billy stands and slips his jeans off, as he sits back down in his briefs to let Steve look at his chest and arms flexing from where his hands grip the edge of the mattress, at the thick bunches of muscles in his thighs and calves that taper down to fine boned ankles and feet. Slowly, Billy lays down on his side, never breaking eye contact, leaving just enough space for another body on the bed.

Steve wavers, torn between the yawning dark of his own room and the unknown light in Billy’s gaze. He takes a step back towards his door and Billy exhales hard, like he’d been holding his breath. Steve can’t, he just can’t, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to, doesn’t mean he wants Billy to think he doesn’t want to. He licks his lips and watches Billy copy the movement.

“Soon?” He whispers hopefully, and Billy curls up a bit, gets comfortable, smiles that soft smile.

“Mmhmm. Good night.”

“Good night.” Steve steps into his room and backs up to sit on the foot of the bed, never taking his eyes from Billy’s across the hall. He lays down with his feet on the pillow, squirms with the covers until he can throw the corner over himself. If he lays just right, with the top of his head pressed right up against the footboard, he can see Billy in the other room. 

He doesn’t remember when he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is this suddenly just pining and Elizabethean hand touching? I don’t know. Blame Gentleman Jack and that behind the scenes pic of Dacre in the blue shirt looking soft af.


	9. Chapter 9

Steve wakes up to the smell of coffee and the sound of another person in the house. It should send him scrambling to get the bat but as soon as he opens his eyes he can see the neatly made up guest bed and he knows it’s just Billy. He stretches, heads downstairs and sure enough, Billy is leaning against the sink again, in jeans and nothing else, sipping from a mug with his dad’s logo on it. Steve gets his own cup and leans next to him, eyes resting on the blank fridge, mind occupied by the sleepy warmth of Billy next to him.

“This is nice.” Billy says and it should break the silence but instead it slips into it like it belongs there. Steve hums questioningly in his throat, not sure his voice would be as easy on the moment.

“This.” Billy gestures with his free hand and Steve turns to look at him, noticing the slightly frizzy mess of his curls and the faint red mark from the pillow on his cheek, just visible through the rough golden stubble over his jaw. “The quiet, I mean.” He pauses and Steve can see him sifting through words to find the ones he wants.

“You make everything quiet sometimes, Steve.” He chuckles helplessly. “It’s like a damn magic trick.” 

“Yeah well,” Steve clears his throat and lets his shoulder rest against the other boy’s, lets their warmth mingle. “You make everything normal. So right back at you, I guess.”

Billy snorts but doesn’t reply, lets the moment take back over. It finally gets to be less them standing there drinking coffee and more them standing there holding empty cups and so Steve takes the initiative and steps away, grabs some pop tarts from the cabinet and drops them in the toaster. 

“You gonna be in trouble?” He asks his reflection in the chrome. “For staying out all night.” 

“Yeah.” Billy answers and there’s something in his voice that makes Steve glance back over his shoulder at him. “That sucks too, ‘cause I was kinda thinking it was a good day for a drive.”

He says it so casually, it could almost mean anything at all but Steve _knows_ and suddenly his mind is spinning in a dozen directions at once as he tries to figure out how to make everything happen right this second.

“Yeah?” He asks hopefully.

“Yeah.” Billy says, face breaking into a grin that summons a matching one onto Steve’s face. “Say, around noon? That work for you?”

Steve thinks about the blood on the concrete, about his evening shift at Scoops, about the new Indiana Jones movie he said he’d take the kids to. Then he nods, just once. 

And Billy Hargrove goddamn beams.

At nine, Steve picks up the kids at the Wheelers and takes them to the Byers, where Jonathan is just finishing hooking up a Slip n’ Slide to the hose. The kids scramble to get out of the car, save for Jane who’s eyeing the toy with extreme distrust and clutching a stuffed full backpack, but Steve calls them all back with a few yells and a clap of his hands.

“Listen, listen!” They pipe down enough that he can look them in the eye, landing on Dustin and holding his gaze. “I’m uh, I’m leaving.”

They all look puzzled, exchanging glances. 

“Yeah? We know?” Lucas makes a face.

“No, I-” Steve put his hands on his hips. “I mean, I’m leaving Hawkins today. For a road trip. And uh, and I don’t know when I’ll be back so…” He trails off. The kids are staring at him now, an entire fleet of puppy dog eyes being sent his way. Dustin looks close to tears. Jonathan and Joyce are a few feet away but getting slowly closer.

“California.” Jane says knowingly as she kneels to dig in her bag. “In the loud car.”

“Uh, yeah, maybe.” Steve looks at her askance because that wasn’t technically him telling them where he was going right? “Or maybe...Portland?” He tries. 

“But you can’t just leave us.” Dustin says pitifully and is his bottom lip actually trembling? Steve isn’t gonna survive this. Will’s shoulders are shaking and what the-he doesn’t even know Will that well! He flounders for a few more seconds, mouth working but no words coming out before Joyce intercedes. 

“That’s enough, let him off the hook.” The kids erupt into giggles, Dustin going so far as to snort as Jane stands back up with an arm full of poorly wrapped objects. Lucas punches Steve lightly in the stomach and when did they all get so tall?

“Jane told us a week ago. We got you presents.”

Steve turns to gape at Jane, who has the grace to blush.

“Wasn’t peeking. I was looking for a dog. From a flyer. Heard you talking about it. In the little road.”

It takes a second for Steve to realize she means the alley and he breathes out in relief. Not that anything happened at the pool or the field but...but he wants those moments to himself. He’s saved from thinking up a reply by Dustin grabbing his arm.

“C’mon, open your gifts.” They sit on the steps and he carefully unwraps each parcel, even as the kids complain and tell him to just rip them open already.

Lucas has given him a compass on a lanyard, and Mike has thrown in a flashlight. Dustin has selected an entire shoebox full of snack foods. And Will has made a multicolored popsicle stick frame to hold a snapshot of the kids, Max included, all piled up in the Wheelers’ floor. 

“Jonanthan helped with that one.” Will says quietly and Steve gives the other teen a nod, not sure how to say just how much the picture means to him. Lastly, Jane carefully puts a medium size box in front of him and expectantly watches as he opens it to reveal...a walkie talkie?

“It’s a ham radio.” Jane pronounces it like two words. Rad-io. “Like Jim’s but better. You can talk to us from it.” 

Steve glances at all of them, at the excited smiles around him and the knowledge suddenly hits him that as much as he wants to leave this place, he doesn’t want to leave these people behind. He clutches the box in his hands tightly, like someone might take it from him. 

“Thanks, thank you, I uh.” He finally looks at Joyce, who’s smiling gently like she gets it, like she _knows_ , and he feels a sudden rush of comeradie with her. 

“I’m gonna be back.” He blurts out, and he realizes it’s true as soon as he says it. He will be, one day. Maybe sooner than he thought. “I’m not sure when but uh-” He gently taps the box with the radio. “If you need me, can always call. I’ll hop a flight or something.”

“Yeah right.” Dustin scoffs. “You’re gonna be too busy looking at all the hot girls on the beach to even think about us.” Steve flounders again, and Joyce finally takes pity on him.

“I’m sure Steve will be able to tear himself away from all the beautiful people to check in once a week. And I’m also sure that if you don’t get changed, you can’t play in the hose so go on, get your suits on.” She ushers them inside, pausing only to squeeze Steve’s shoulder as she passes. He sits there for a moment more and Jonathan has the grace to ignore Steve rubbing at his eyes as he takes the empty spot next to him.

“You’ll keep an eye on ‘em, right?” Steve asks, looking out over the yard.

“Of course.” Jonathan says easily. “And I’ll let you know if we need a guy with a bat.”

Steve laughs a little, somewhat rattled by the idea of being friends with Jonathan Byers of all people, as the kids coming tearing out of the house to jump on the water slide, all thoughts of monsters and shadows tucked away for a few hours in the sunshine.

Hawkins was fucking weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That got maudlin for a minute, idkw. Also the internet tells me that hand-held ham radios existed in the 80s but is less helpful in telling me if they could work the way I imply here. We’re going to ignore that.


	10. Chapter 10

Steve walks from his house to the gas station on Fountain Street, the one near the entrance for the interstate. It’s not a long walk but by the time he gets there, he’s covered in sweat, shoulders aching from the hockey bag stuffed with everything he thought he needed to have. 

He’d gotten back from the Byers around eleven-after rounds of hugs and promises to keep them updated on his progress west-and had just finished packing when his folks had pulled up to the house. There hadn’t been any yelling, if only because Harringtons didn’t really yell, but his dad had dropped a few curse words and his mother had gone straight to the wet bar for a gin and tonic. Steve had explained, eye on the time, that this was what he needed to do. That he had to get out of town for a bit, and no, he _hadn’t_ gotten someone pregnant and no, he _wasn’t_ on drugs and then he had remembered what Billy said and told them it was “like Kerouac” and suddenly his mother was talking about how Kennedy had gone west for a spell and his father was pressing an extra wad of cash into his hand.

There had been pleased smiles and a slap on the back and vague statements about ‘broadening horizons’ and ‘getting a taste for the world’ and a distinct lack of curiosity about why Steve didn’t need his car.

Neither of them had offered to drop him off anywhere.

So Steve had started walking, thankful he had put on gym clothes, and got to the little convenience store about fifteen minutes before noon. He wanders the aisles for a bit, more to enjoy the AC than to really buy anything but after a few pointed looks from the clerk, he shoulders his bag and pulls a few cans of Coke out of the case.

As he’s paying, he hears the telltale growl of the Camaro as it comes shooting over the hill. Steve momentarily loses track of what he’s doing in order to watch it swing wide into the lot and pull up to a pump. A faint cough from the clerk draws his attention back and he flushes.

“And ten dollars on pump number four. Thanks.” Steve pockets his change and walks outside right as Billy gets out of the car. 

“Already covered it.” Steve announces and opens the back door to toss his bag in next to a few milk crates full of what might have been everything Billy owned. “You can get the next one.”

He waits as Billy fills up, gets the change from the clerk and gets back inside. Steve lets him start the car before offering him one of the cans dripping condensation onto the floor.

Billy takes the soda with an amused smile and raises an eyebrow.

“Gotta say, pretty boy, you’re really not invalidating my question here.” Steve smiles out the window, squinting into the light.

“I’m not?”

“Nope.” Billy says, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis, sliding his shades on as they pull out of the lot.

“What question is that again?” He props a foot up on the dash and takes a sip of his drink. Billy stops at the four-way, peering over his aviators at Steve, leaning over into the passenger seat like he did so many days ago, in a deserted field on the edge of town.

“You sweet on me, Harrington?” 

Steve leans in just as close, until he can count every lash framing those bright blue eyes, until his nose almost touches the other boy’s and their breaths mingle, sugary sweet from the soda.

“What if I am?” There’s a spark of something wild in Billy’s gaze, and he revs the engine just to hear it growl as Steve’s smile grows bigger. ‘What are you gonna do about it, Hargrove?”

“Make it worth your while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is not endorsed by the coca-cola company. I don’t even drink soda.


	11. Coda: Build a House, Make a Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A coda to recover from season three. No spoilers.

Steve steps out of the taxi and onto the sidewalk just in time to see an elderly man lean over the fence for a closer look at the roses in the fading San Francisco sun. He fights back a smile as he grabs his bag and pays his fare before heading towards the gate. The old man was murmuring now-Steve could just make out the word “remarkable” over the music drifting down the block from The Farm. 

Steve shoulders his duffel, considerably heavier coming back from Hawkins then it had been going, and enters the tidy yard full of blooms. The man barely notices him until he’s halfway up the walk and he calls after him imploringly.

“Young man! Young man, please!” Steve turns, one foot on the steps. “The blooms! The color! You must tell me your secret!”

Steve smiles then. As tired as he is, he nevers misses a chance to brag. 

“Can’t help you.” The man’s face falls even as Steve continues. “My boyfriend does all the yardwork.” Right as he finishes, Steve hears the screen door open behind him and a tanned arm winds its way around his waist as Billy presses a kiss to Steve’s neck.

“How’s the shithole? Everything good?” The man’s eyes widen slightly and Steve can see him take a step closer to the fence. 

Billy had that effect on people.

He leans back against the broad chest and lets Billy take his weight for a moment before he replies. “They’re fine. False alarm, everything’s quiet. Erica has a BB gun now.” He’s gently jostled by Billy’s laughter and he pats the arm holding him up before ducking around Billy and stepping into the house.

“Go talk to your latest fan.” He gently shoves Billy towards the man who’s recovered from his first glimpse of the tanned blond and is back to bursting with questions on how Billy gets his roses so beautiful this late in the season.

Steve heads for the kitchen, Billy’s voice a faint buzz through the screen behind him, and there’s an open Coke on the counter. Steve knows the cap is in the sink because Billy knows it drives Steve crazy when he tosses them in there, just like Steve knows there’s a plate of whatever Billy cooked for dinner waiting for him in the fridge. Steve snags the bottle, draining it as he drops his bag and toes off his shoes. The shower’s running-Billy would have started it as soon as he saw Steve pull up, knows he always wants to wash the airplane off first thing. 

Steve strips as he walks through the bedroom to the tiny bathroom, leaves his clothes where they fall even though Billy will bitch about it later, _The hamper’s literally right there!_ even as he picks up after him. He’s just stepped under the warm spray when he hears the screen door open and shut, followed by the slow creaking of the floorboards under someone’s weight. 

Once, Steve would have peered out from the curtain, would have felt the need to confirm who it was before he felt safe. Now he just tips his head forward to let the water loosen his shoulders.

The creaking comes closer. There’s rustling noises, the brief rush of cool air, and then strong arms are caging him, keeping out the world.

“Hey there, sailor.”

Billy leans against him, pressing them together from shoulders to thighs and god, Steve missed him. Billy tucks his chin into the curve of Steve’s neck, hums under his breath, seemingly content to stand here until the water runs out.

“God, I missed you.” Steve blurts out and he feels more than hears Billy laugh.

“It was only four days, Harrington.” Steve turns around, wet skin sliding on wet skin, until he’s pressed against the tile, behind the spray and looking at Billy.

“Yeah. Tell me about it.” 

Billy smiles, soft and easy like he does more and more, like he does for Steve, like he did once, years ago in a guest room across the hall before Steve knew what to do with everything he was feeling.

Steve knows what to do now. 

He tugs Billy closer by his waist, presses his lips against that smile and closes his eyes to take it all in-the warm water rolling down Billy’s back, the wide palms on his shoulders, the hint of softness under his fingers that Billy hates and Steve loves. 

He gets this, gets to have this. And he doesn’t have to fight for it, doesn’t have to stumble along or kill monsters, or win fights. 

Billy Hargrove loves him without any of that. He loves him for waking up late every morning and for bitching about leaving bottle caps in the sink, for spending too much of their tiny budget on monthly trips back to Hawkins, for leaving his dirty clothes on the floor, for never remembering the names of movies or the plots of books but knowing every song on the radio, even the ones in Spanish. Billy...Billy just loves him. 

And Steve loves him for it.

They break apart slowly, and Steve opens his eyes first so he can watch Billy’s drift open slowly, still bright blue and always looking his way. He lets his hands trace up and down Billy’s spine, feels Billy responding to his touch and he glances down and back up with a smirk.

“Shut up.” Billy scowls but there’s no heat to it and the tips of his ears are pink. “Four days is a long fucking time.”

“Aww.” Steve frees one hand to cut off the water before it can go cold and then he uses what little height he has on the other man to muscle him out of the bathroom and into their bedroom, water dripping all over the floor. 

“If I didn’t know any better,” He uses two fingers to press Billy down onto his back on their bed, runs them over the pendent that lays against his chest, down, down, to where Billy’s body is telling him all about how much Steve was missed. Blue eyes are staring up at Steve where he leans over Billy, eyes full of love and easy, gentle affection and Steve smiles down at him when Billy raise a hand to run his fingers through Steve’s hair.

“If I didn’t know any better,” He tries again and tightens his grip just to hear Billy moan. “I’d say you were sweet on me.”

“Nope.” Billy gasps out as Steve’s hand keeps moving in practiced rhythm, hips following the motion.

“No?” Steve raises his eyebrows, twists his wrist just the way he knows will make Billy’s head fall back. “You sure you’re not sweet on me?”

“Nah.” Billy tugs with the hand in Steve’s hair, brings him down so he can pant into Steve’s mouth, can whisper into the space between them, a space just for them.

“I’m an absolute goner for you, pretty boy.”

And Steve Harrington goddamn beams.


End file.
